One Afternoon.

The smoke rises like the house is taking a big breath in. It moves like a dancer for entertainment. It wraps itself around me like a cocoon, Jasmine you are magick. Sipping red wine at 10 am in bed that's going straight to my head. I'm swimming in a sea of unpredictability. Where do I go from here? Can I stretch my pennies long enough for another month? In the afternoon, I watch as the trees and I sway in sync to the same tune. I like the color of the leaves. They remind me of emeralds just waiting to be plucked from the stem. I didn't grow up rich nor would I have wanted to. Money doesn't grant you a better afterlife. A storm rolls in around 1:30. I stare at my dirty wine glass. The fingerprints look like ink blots in a psychiatrist's office or abstract art. I prefer the latter. Through the looking glass I see a goddess soaring through the skies bringing forth new life, making me believe such things are possible. What does that say about me? Later, in the cool afternoon, I lied in the grass and ran my hand across it, it felt like the unshaven beard of men I've known in the past. As the sun began to set and as I lapped my last drop of wine, i closed my eyes for a nap recharging for the nocturnal adventures ahead. I'll probably fuck something or someone up in the head. No matter the damage, I'll still wake up where I started from, alone.